


Wardrobe Difficulties

by Anweyr



Category: Radiant Historia
Genre: Belts, F/M, Humor, lots of belts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 12:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1819048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anweyr/pseuds/Anweyr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stocke and Raynie fail to get to second base.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wardrobe Difficulties

Raynie was laughing, a feral gleam in her eyes, and Stocke let her pull him by the hand into the room of the inn they were sharing with the others in their oddball group. It was crowded, but it was better than the army tents, and since they were staying there only for a single day it hardly mattered. Tomorrow morning the combined armies of Forgia, Cygnus, and Celestia would launch their attack on the Sand Fortress.

The attack would happen without Raynie and Stocke, now, as would the rest of the war. Stocke’s head was whirling. How could the world have changed so much in just fifteen minutes? But it had -- the sun seemed brighter; the air, fresher. The hangings on the walls in the common room of the inn seemed brighter too. And Raynie’s hand was warm in his, and that weary, worried look she’d been wearing since Celestia had been replaced by joy.

“Hey, Stocke, Raynie, are you -- “ Marco broke off and stared as Raynie marched past him, dragging Stocke. The dwarf whistled. “That must have been some talk.”

“It was, actually, yes,” Stocke managed, fighting Raynie’s tugging for a moment. “We’ve decided-”

“We’ll tell you all about it later, Marc, I promise!” Raynie added, and pulled at Stocke’s hand. “But later. We’ve got more, uh, discussing to do, right Stocke?”  

“Um-”

“Hey, Stocke! Everyone’s busy getting ready for the attack. But I’m bored and it’s hot out! Can we go get shaved ice? Please?” Aht’s voice rose from behind them.

Thankfully Marco was observant, or maybe he’d just made an educated guess about the new couple, because he took a hold of the girl’s arm and held her back from pelting down the hall after Stocke. “They’re going to go play chess. You’d get bored watching. Come on, I’ll get you your shaved ice.”

Raynie chuckled as Stocke closed the door behind them. “Good ol’ Marc. We won’t even need to put our boots outside the door.”

Stocke leaned against the door and smiled at her, letting fondness crinkle his eyes. “I take it that’s some sort of code?”

“Yeah, it’s what roommates in our mercenary group used. Y’know, to let the other know we’ve got someone with us and a little privacy would be appreciated. Same thing with tents. You were an army man before Specint, right? I’m surprised you didn’t have something like that there.”

Stocke shrugged. “It never came up.”

“Huh.” Raynie shrugged. “Well, whatever.” She put a hand on the wall behind him, beside his head, and leaned in. “Tomorrow it won’t matter, since everyone will leave for the Sand Fortress. And then we’ll have all the privacy we want for...” she played with the edge of his cloak over his chest. “Things.”

Stocke lifted his head up and gave her the kiss she was clearly fishing for.

They stayed like that, still, touching only at hands and mouths, for a long moment. Then Raynie leaned in, pressing herself against him, and Stocke felt a heat that had nothing to do with the fact that they were in a desert town. He shifted his weight ever so slightly, a small adjustment that made their bodies fit together more closely. Raynie -- his strong, beautiful Raynie -- sighed into his mouth and went soft in his arms.

Experimentally, he stroked one of her arms -- the muscle was still there, firm under his hand, but relaxed. He was struck with an intense need to explore this contradiction, to understand both sides of Raynie, to touch her softness and feel her strength…

His hands roamed, but everywhere there was just too much fabric in the way, so he found a buckle near her hip. He paused, breaking their kiss long enough to give her a questioning look. Raynie, her eyes half-lidded, nodded and brought her own hands down to his belts.

It took a bit of fumbling, but Stocke managed to undo the buckle without breaking their kiss, and the sudden lightening of pressure along his legs that meant Raynie had gotten one of the weapon-belts off renewed his desire. But when he went to stroke her belly he quickly found that Raynie’s shirt was not any looser than it had been.

The next buckle he found was pulled tight, and he had to stop kissing her and use both hands to pull the strap loose of the metal buckle. Then he had to duck his head and help Raynie finish removing his cloak.

Stocke was on the fourth buckle and starting to feel more vexed than excited when Raynie huffed a sigh.

“God, Stocke, why do you have to wear so many belts?” she demanded, her hands stilling. “I am never going to get you undressed at this rate.”

“Your clothes aren’t any easier to remove,” he replied, nettled. “I could say the same thing.”

“They’re easy if you start with the -- well, no wonder you had problems, you’ve only undone the ones I never even bother with. This is the one you want,” she added, pointing to yet another buckle, this one hidden under her collar. “And this one.” There was a matching fastener on the other side.

Stocke shot her a sour look. He’d never have found it on his own.

“Um, are you even in the mood any more?” Raynie asked, sounding doubtful.

He shrugged. “Not really.”

“Okay, good, me either.” She sighed. “If it’s all right with you I’m gonna… sort things out.” She gestured at the assorted buckles hanging open along her sides.

They repaired their appearances in silence, a good three feet stretching between them. Eventually, Raynie spoke up again. “Sooo… if I know Marco, he probably took Aht the long way around to the market where they sell shaved ice. I think we’ve probably got the room to ourselves for a while yet. Whacha wanna do?”

 

* * *

 

Marco was careful to go through the inn’s hallway ahead of Aht, and only let her overtake him once he saw a complete absence of anything in front of the door to their room.

When he entered the room in the wake of the gleeful Satyros girl, he found she’d already pounced on Stocke, resting against his back with her arms around his neck. She was chattering cheerfully about all the exciting things they’d seen in the market. "-- and they had grape shaved ice? It turns your tongue purple, see?"

Stocke was smiling absently, only half-attending as he watched Raynie.  Her tongue was sticking out of the corner of her mouth as her hand hovered over the carved ivory pieces on the checkered board between them.

She glanced up. “Hey, Marc! I figured you’d be here once Aht arrived. Stocke just taught me how to play chess.”

Marco blinked at the two of them, then gave a little shrug. He’d had a guess about what had been bothering Raynie, and seeing both their expressions in the inn earlier and more or less confirmed it. And while he had told Aht that’s what they were going to do, he hadn’t actually expected Raynie and Stocke to play chess. But if that’s how they wanted to celebrate their new relationship, who was he to judge?

**Author's Note:**

> Some people found it very funny that my other Raynie/Stocke 'fic contained the line "they make short work of each other’s clothes", given the complexity of both their costumes.
> 
> I thought about it, and concluded those people were absolutely right. This story is for them.


End file.
